


Taken

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-04-06 16:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19066411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Asahina is not gentle with him." Asahina eases Isaka's insecurities and Isaka finds very little to regret.





	Taken

Asahina is not gentle with him.

Ryuichiro knew what he was agreeing to. He might have trouble reading any fragment of real emotion from the other’s ever-stoic expression, even with ten years of experience to grant him some kind of advantage, but if nothing else at least he has learned that Asahina’s deadpan tone and steady gaze can hold all manner of things. Asahina speaks with his hands, and lips, and body; and on those few occasions he is pushed to the extremity of speech, his words offer only the blandest framework for the truth of the emotions hidden behind those cool eyes. For him to put such direct intention to a clear statement promises more than Ryuichiro has ever had from him before, and even Asahina’s warning of his inevitable regret only serves to inflame the ache of unsatisfied desire Ryuichiro has been carrying within him for the last weeks of isolation.

Asahina takes the lead immediately. This is hardly unusual either; for as much as Ryuichiro has his way in the office and in those smaller impositions on Asahina’s life that he claims as his right, Asahina has always been the one to step forward, to brace a hand at Ryuichiro’s head and urge his tongue past Ryuichiro’s lips and press the other down to the couch, or the sheets, or the floor, depending on their present location and the pent-up desperation between them. Ryuichiro knows Asahina will take charge as soon as their lips meet, has been thinking of it more often than otherwise during his less-than-satisfying solo fantasies over the last few weeks; but the reality overwhelms all his imagining, as Asahina never fails to do. Asahina’s fingers curl to a fist in Ryuichiro’s hair, his grip strong enough to serve as an order even before he pulls to force Ryuichiro closer against him, and the touch of his tongue to Ryuichiro’s lips is a demand rather than a request. Ryuichiro finds Asahina filling his mouth with heat almost as soon as they touch, his tongue insisting on surrender as surely as the fist pulling Ryuichiro’s head back does, and in answer Ryuichiro’s cock swells to instant heat, straining hard at the front of his slacks with no more persuasion than the work of Asahina’s tongue into his mouth and the certain demand of the hand gripping hard against his hair.

Asahina forces them into movement. His hand is at Ryuichiro’s hair, his tongue is in Ryuichiro’s mouth, and when he takes a step forward there is no space for hesitance in his motion, no soft uncertainty against which Ryuichiro might press. Asahina demands compliance, expects surrender without bothering to ask, and Ryuichiro stumbles backwards, as quick to give in as Asahina is to demand. It’s not a conscious decision, not a deliberate capitulation, but Ryuichiro’s head is dizzy with the heat of Asahina’s touch surging through him, and when his balance wavers all he can do in answer is clutch against Asahina’s shoulders and let the impetus of the other’s forward movement urge him back through the apartment towards the open door of the bedroom. By the time they pass through the doorway Ryuichiro is on the cusp of falling, clinging to Asahina’s coat with force enough to drag it out-of-alignment over the other’s shoulders, but even this abuse of his professional appearance elicits no protest from Asahina himself. He just urges them forward with long, smooth strides that leave Ryuichiro’s feet sliding for purchase against the floor, and when the edge of the bed hits the back of his knee Ryuichiro collapses at once, dropping to the soft of the mattress with a speed that lifts his heart into his throat and rushes adrenaline through his veins in the moment before he lands heavily against the sheets beneath him.

Asahina keeps his feet at the edge of the bed, gazing down at Ryuichiro before him, but he’s not still either. He’s reaching for the button of his coat, thumbing it open with one hand as he pulls at the knot of his tie with the other; the latter he slides free in a long pull of grace enough to tighten Ryuichiro’s balls with want, dragging the length free and dropping it to puddle at the floor before he shrugs his coat off to cast over the back of a chair. There is no distraction in the necessity of this movement; Asahina doesn’t so much as turn his head to watch the fall of his coat. His eyes remain fixed on Ryuichiro, dark in the shadows of the room and certain as the set of his mouth as he lifts a hand to unfasten the top button of his shirt. His cuffs are next, buttons freed at one wrist and immediately at the other as he steps forward to drop a knee to the bed between Ryuichiro’s legs. Asahina leans in towards him, casting Ryuichiro in the deep dark of his nighttime shadow as he braces a hand against the sheets so he can lean in over the other, and Ryuichiro’s breath spills free from him in a sound of helpless heat as Asahina slides a finger between his own tie and his tight-buttoned collar to pull the slick fabric loose as immediately as he did his own. Ryuichiro’s coat opens to Asahina’s touch, his shirt falling free as if the buttons are as obedient to the other’s implicit desires as Ryuichiro knows himself to be, and then Asahina’s hand is under his shirt and pushing up across his chest and Ryuichiro forgets about trivialities like clothes for the heat of Asahina’s fingers against him.

Asahina’s hands are steady. Ryuichiro has never known any hesitation in the other’s fingers, has never found the least trace of uncertainty in Asahina in the decade they have been together; Asahina touches him with intention, with a force and direction to his actions that leaves Ryuichiro trembling in helpless response while Asahina is still pulling his shirt loose of his pants, before the other’s fingers have even laid claim to the bare skin of his chest. By the time Asahina’s palm is pressing to Ryuichiro’s stomach Ryuichiro is panting with the heat of it, his cheeks flushed and lashes so heavy he can barely keep his eyes open, and when the other’s fingers slide over his chest to push his shirt clear of his body all Ryuichiro can do is lie flat on the bed and shake with the force of the desire that shudders through him with every stroke of Asahina’s fingers.

“You’re very responsive,” Asahina observes, speaking in that same unemotional monotone he always gives in answer to any question Ryuichiro asks, to any request Ryuichiro makes. His tone is cold, his words distant observation; but his hand is hot on Ryuichiro’s skin as his fingers brace against the other’s chest. His thumb presses to Ryuichiro’s nipple, dragging rough over the hard point of it, and Ryuichiro jerks at the bed, his back arching up as his hips jolt in futile pursuit of friction from the open air above him. Asahina’s expression doesn’t change, the focus in his eyes doesn’t flicker, but the darkness of his stare is enough all alone to burn over Ryuichiro’s desire-flushed cheeks, to part Ryuichiro’s lips on the anxiety of fast-cresting want. “Even more than I anticipated you would be.”

Ryuichiro groans in the back of his throat and lifts a hand to push the weight of his hair back from his forehead. “Is anticipation all you’re looking for tonight?”

Asahina shakes his head, a single sharp motion enough all alone to shiver as much heat down Ryuichiro’s spine as the friction of his thumb pressing to the other’s nipple is achieving. “No,” he says, with something almost emotional in his voice, something very near to what Ryuichiro would call darkness at someone’s else’s lips. He isn’t allowed time to contemplate the detail before Asahina is leaning in over him, turning his head to capture Ryuichiro’s mouth with his own again and pull loose all the clarity of the other’s thought via the stroke of his tongue against Ryuichiro’s. Asahina lifts his hand from Ryuichiro’s chest to brace at the bed over the other’s shoulder, leaning hard enough at the support that Ryuichiro can feel the mattress shift in answer, and as he catches Ryuichiro’s tongue between his lips to suck aching pressure into the back of the other’s mouth there’s movement at Ryuichiro’s hips, the weight of strong fingers unfastening his belt and slacks with dexterous ease.

Ryuichiro doesn’t protest. Asahina’s movements are graceful, steady and too self-assured to hesitate for any kind of a response; and there is nothing Ryuichiro wants more than this, Asahina’s fingers pressing to his skin to strip off the confining layers of clothing they too often bear between each other. Asahina’s lips press to his, Asahina’s tongue fills his mouth with the friction of heat and the taste of the other man, and when Asahina’s touch dips inside his underwear to palm against his cock Ryuichiro bucks into it, only saved from moaning aloud by the weight of Asahina’s mouth hard against his. Instead the sound is muffled to a whimper, another offering for Ryuichiro to make to the demand of Asahina’s tongue, and when Asahina pushes farther down Ryuichiro’s knees tip open without being asked to make space for Asahina’s touch against him.

Asahina doesn’t waste time. He’s unhurried, showing none of the frantic edge that Ryuichiro can feel coursing through his own veins, as if satisfaction is likely to be stripped from his grip if he delays too long in seeking it; but there is no delay to Asahina’s movements, no needless motion even as Ryuichiro arches under him and moans pleading heat against his mouth. No sooner was Ryuichiro’s shirt unbuttoned than Asahina reached for his pants, no sooner were his slacks open than Asahina’s fingers were urging against his cock; even with Ryuichiro trembling beneath him he is efficient, reaching between the other’s thighs to press over his balls that he can touch his fingertips against the other’s entrance. Ryuichiro tightens at the pressure, his body clenching on involuntary reaction to the friction as the ache in him begs for intrusion, for the stroke of Asahina’s long fingers pushing up and into him, but Asahina barely touches him before he’s sliding his hand up and away again, the action providing a long pull of friction that leaves Ryuichiro quaking boneless with surging heat from the ache of his cock inside his tangled slacks.

Asahina pulls away from his mouth, leaving Ryuichiro free to pant heat from the air around them as he straightens to shrug off his shirt before leaning over the edge of the bed to reach beneath it. His expression is shadowed, the room too dark for Ryuichiro to make out the details of the other’s gaze or the set of his mouth, but the crispness of his movements speaks loud to his intentions even before he has straightened to kneel at the bed with the bottle of lube in his hands.

“Please take your pants off, Ryuichiro-sama,” Asahina says with his gaze on the bottle as he twists the lid free and pours it across his fingers. He appears absorbed in what he’s doing, as if his full focus is on the movement of his hands and not at all on Ryuichiro’s obedience or lack thereof, but for once Ryuichiro doesn’t demand more of the other’s attention. He’s too anxious to capitulate, to strip himself for the work of Asahina’s slick-wet fingers, and the tension in him comes with action made clumsy on haste. He tangles himself in his shirt and coat as he pushes up from the bed, has to struggle to strip those free and shove them over the edge of the mattress before he can push his pants and underwear off his hips and down his legs; he’s only just kicking his feet free of the legs when Asahina is leaning in to resume his position over him again. Asahina catches at Ryuichiro’s knee to urge it wider as Ryuichiro rocks back to fall over the bed, moving to push the other’s legs apart with that same focused efficiency, and Ryuichiro is still catching a breath of strained desire when Asahina’s hand pushes between his thighs to urge against his entrance. He can feel the tips of Asahina’s fingers against him, sliding to drag slick over the taut skin as if to offer persuasion, and then there’s sudden force, far more immediately than Ryuichiro expected, and his voice breaks over a sharp whimper of surprise as two of Asahina’s fingers together push up into him.

“Please relax,” Asahina says, still in that level tone as his fingers demand entrance to Ryuichiro’s body. “This will take longer if you are tense.”

“I can’t help it,” Ryuichiro protests, although he is easing after that first startling force, his body loosening with well-learned instinct to grant Asahina greater range of movement within him. “You never start with two, usually.”

“I do not,” Asahina agrees. He sets his free hand at Ryuichiro’s hip, steadying his fingers against the other’s skin like he’s finding a handhold against the angle of bone. “It is as I warned you. After the last weeks I do not possess an abundance of restraint for you.” His grip tightens at Ryuichiro’s hip; it’s the only warning Ryuichiro gets before Asahina pushes hard enough to sink his fingers far into the grip of the other’s body. Ryuichiro gusts a breath from his lungs, his body throbbing with the mingled heat of too-much strain and deep-down satisfaction that comes with Asahina’s hands on him, Asahina’s touch inside him, Asahina’s gaze dark with heat against his face.

“Good,” Ryuichiro says, and drops his arm to shadow some part of his expression from the force of Asahina’s gaze while he swallows himself into speech from the heat closing taut around his throat. “I want you to take everything from me.”

Asahina’s thumb tightens against Ryuichiro’s hip. “As you wish, Ryuichiro-sama.” His voice is dark, dropping to depths Ryuichiro hardly ever hears from the other’s lips, but Ryuichiro has no chance to reply before Asahina is slipping his fingers back to take another thrust forward that demands surrender instead of requesting it. Ryuichiro opens to the force, giving way to Asahina with the same helpless desperation the other has always drawn from him, and when his free hand clutches to a fist at the sheets and his breathing strains to a groan in his throat Asahina answers his speechless need as quickly to stroke forward and lay claim to the give of his body.

It doesn’t take long. Ryuichiro would have expected himself to need more time to ease around the strain of Asahina’s paired fingers, to need a delay just to relax the instinctive strain of his body tightening against the other’s touch; but he’s too desperate in himself, or Asahina’s force is enough persuasion to urge his arousal to open need. It seems only a few strokes before Asahina is moving smoothly, thrusting as deep as his fingers can reach while Ryuichiro’s legs tremble against the bed and Ryuichiro’s breathing rasps in his throat, and no sooner has the first strain of pressure begun to ease than Asahina spreads his touch wider to urge Ryuichiro to greater surrender. Ryuichiro gives way, as unwilling to resist as he is unable, and when Asahina slides his touch free of him entirely he feels the motion as a loss, as the absence of a pressure he has already learned to crave the heat of.

Ryuichiro slides his arm free of his eyes so he can look down at Asahina kneeling between his thighs and perhaps urge the other to greater speed, but Asahina is already unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly to free the full heat of his cock from the restraint of his clothing. He delays only long enough to slide his pants down his thighs and past his knees, that he may strip himself as bare as he has already laid Ryuichiro, but Ryuichiro is left no chance to appreciate the length of Asahina’s pale legs or the curve of his waist before the other’s shadow is falling over him once more. Asahina’s hand lands over Ryuichiro’s shoulder, his arm flexing to hold himself up as his fingers curl around Ryuichiro’s hip to urge the other’s weight up towards him. Ryuichiro reaches to clutch at the back of Asahina’s neck, struggling to steady himself as he looks down to see the dark of his own cock between them and the length of Asahina’s fitting between his thighs, but Asahina is moving as quickly as Ryuichiro lifts his head, so what he is left to see is the tension of Asahina’s stomach flexing taut with intention in the moment before his hips come forward and his cock plunges deep into Ryuichiro’s body.

Ryuichiro tenses at once, his hips jerking and thighs tightening in reflexive shock at the pressure inside him, at the abrupt heat filling what feels like the whole of his body. Asahina doesn’t pause to give him time to recover; he’s drawing back at once, pulling away only to drive into Ryuichiro once more. Ryuichiro moans, his knees flexing to press tight at Asahina’s hips as his back arches and his fingers spasm, and over him Asahina leans closer to cover Ryuichiro’s body with his own and catch the sound of the other’s breathing at the part of his lips.

“I told you I would not hold myself back,” Asahina tells him. His hips are moving with absolute force, with no hesitation from the breathtaking pace he began with; it’s hard for Ryuichiro to hold to the structure of the other’s words around the surging heat of Asahina inside him, knocking Ryuichiro’s attention free of his hold with every forward stroke of his hips. “That you would regret it.” Asahina’s eyes look black in the dark of the room as he watches Ryuichiro’s face beneath his, as he tracks the involuntary responses to his movement cascading over the other’s expression. He looks almost calm, sounds nearly level; but there is nothing calm in his motion, in the desperate flex of his hips as his body demands the absolute surrender of Ryuichiro’s to it.

“You did,” Ryuichiro manages. His voice is cracking, giving way in his throat with every drive of Asahina’s cock stroking into him, but he can’t care about the shiver of his words any more than he can spare a thought for the weight of his lashes turning his gaze smokey or the swollen heat of his lips parting to make an invitation of his mouth. He lifts his free hand from the bed to touch at Asahina’s hair, to wind his fingers into the strands. “I heard you.” His grip tightens, his hand curls to a fist. “Do it anyway.”

Asahina’s lashes dip, the dark of his gaze flickers to endless black for a moment. “Yes, Ryuichiro-sama.” And he tips his head down, pressing the weight of his forehead to Ryuichiro’s shoulder as if to hold the other steady against the movement of his body. His grip at Ryuichiro’s hip tightens, his hand at the sheets curls to a fist; and then his movement speeds further, surging forward into a pace that blows Ryuichiro’s eyes wide and drops his mouth open on a wave of sensation too much to allow for even fractured speech. Ryuichiro’s throat works over tension, tightening to drag his breathing to moans to match the flex of his body around Asahina’s length, but Asahina doesn’t slow the overwhelming force of his pace. He’s slamming into Ryuichiro, sheathing himself to the hilt with each forward stroke he takes, and Ryuichiro has never been taken like this before and can’t think for the dizzy-surging heat of it. His body is aching, throbbing pain in answer to the intrusion forcing deep into him without concern for his reflexive clenching around it; but his cock is throbbing too, pulsing heat between his belly and Asahina’s even with no more encouragement than Asahina desperately fucking into him.

Ryuichiro’s arms are shaking, his fingers trembling where he’s clutching at Asahina’s hair and his eyes wide and staring sightless at the ceiling overhead, and his legs are quaking, tightening against Asahina’s hips as the other takes him with no concern for the strain in Ryuichiro’s body beneath his own. It feels anxious, needy, as if Asahina is claiming Ryuichiro with the same instinctive necessity with which a drowning man would seize at a breath of air, and Ryuichiro’s thoughts are hazing with the force of it, coming free of his grip with each thrust of Asahina’s cock within him. His fingers tense, his nails reaching for some measure of traction while the rest of his body trembles with overwhelmed surrender, and when Asahina thrusts forward into him Ryuchiro’s head tips back, his shoulders flexing against the bed beneath him as heat surges too high for his body to contain. His cock jerks between them, spilling proof of the pleasure Asahina is driving into him, but still Asahina continues, with no hesitation in the force of his motion even as Ryuichiro finds breath from the steam around him and shapes it to “ _Asahina_ ,” pulled ragged and desperate on the sensation rippling through him. Heat stretches long, melting the tension from his muscles and draining the desire from his body, and still Asahina continues, as obedient to the needs of his own desire as he has ever been to any of Ryuichiro’s demands. Ryuichiro shudders with each thrust Asahina takes into him, feels each surge of sensation ache towards the cusp of pain as his body protests this continued use in the wake of his own orgasm, but his hands stay tight, and he doesn’t give voice to protest, just clings to Asahina while his breathing strains with overexertion and his body tightens with reflexive strain around Asahina moving into him.

Ryuichiro loses track of time. His grasp of minutes and seconds was hazy before, stripped from him by the anticipation of his own release well before it broke over him; right now he can’t tell how long Asahina has been having him, if his undoing has made a handful of seconds seem long as hours or if it truly has been long, syrupy minutes upon minutes that Asahina has been over him, in him, fixing them together as if he never means to let Ryuichiro go. Ryuichiro’s skin flickers hot with that thought, with the delusional imagining of Asahina keeping him here for hours, days, a lifetime, finding separation an impossibility now that they have returned to a union too-long denied. But Asahina is gasping over him, Ryuichiro realizes distantly, panting with the collapse of the composure he has sustained even through Ryuichiro’s overwhelming pleasure, and his shoulders are tight where he’s bracing himself over Ryuichiro beneath him. Even his rhythm is coming loose of his control, stuttering faster and catching as he moves, and then Asahina’s breath lodges in his throat and his hips jerk forward hard, working as if to seek out greater depth than what he has already claimed. Ryuichiro’s fingers tighten in Asahina’s hair, holding the other tight against him, and very clearly:

“Ryuichiro-sama,” Asahina says against his shoulder, and then his body crests forward as he spends the full force of his denied pleasure against Ryuichiro around him. Ryuichiro shudders to feel himself so taken, so wanted, so possessed by the desire of the man curved in over him. Asahina remains braced at his elbows, holding himself up while his body strains through the surges of pleasure in him; it is only with the last jolt that he gusts a sigh and lets himself ease to slump to boneless weight. Ryuichiro gusts a breath at the weight of Asahina landing atop him but Asahina doesn’t move aside or offer apology; he only shifts to free his hand from over Ryuichiro’s shoulder so he can fit his arm beneath the other’s waist and pull Ryuichiro arching closer against him, until the sweat-heat of their bodies melds as closely as their desire has.

Ryuichiro doesn’t speak. He has nothing he has not already given voice to, nothing to add to the languid ache of satisfaction suffusing his existence; and there is no need for words, not now with his body so open for Asahina’s taking. His hand is in Asahina’s hair, his breathing tangling itself close to the pant of the other’s; enough to lie still, to let the surrender of his position speak more clearly than the fumble of his words might ever do.

At his shoulder Asahina shifts, his head turning against the sheets beneath them. “Ryuichiro-sama.” When he shuts his eyes Ryuichiro is near enough to feel the shift of the lashes draw across the heat of his skin. “I love you.”

Ryuichiro pulls a breath into his lungs and lets it out, freeing the knot of foolish tension from his chest as the exhale goes. “I love you too.” He collects speech for himself from the heat in the air, from the sweat at his skin, from the rhythm of their hearts beating as one. “I’m yours, Asahina.”

“Yes.” Asahina doesn’t sound surprised. His head shifts, his nose touches Ryuichiro’s cheek. “I know that, Ryuichiro-sama.”

Ryuichiro gazes up at the ceiling for another moment, too dazed by relief to think to move; and then he turns his head to the side, and he shuts his eyes, and gives the soft of his mouth for Asahina’s taking.


End file.
